The Worst Part
by wildtiger7
Summary: Prompt: Cary and Kalinda friendship, "put your head between your knees and breathe"


She had asked him to leave her alone.

She had asked him to stay out of it.

She has used the word please.

He had agreed.

He had gone to someone else when he needed help.

He had walked right by her, even when he noticed… well, he noticed.

He had worried in silence, powerless. He couldn't be someone else who wouldn't do as she asked.

So when he opened his door to find Kalinda on the other side, he didn't know what to think. How scared he should be.

She looked fine, was the initial impression. If you were barely looking and didn't know her. But with Cary there was no such thing as a casual glance at Kalinda, and he knew the way she operated.

Without a word, and without hesitation, he moved aside so she could slip in.

He locked the door behind her as she turned to face him. "I need some help," she whispered.

He frowned, and reached for the barely visible trickle of blood on her lip. "What do you need?" he asked, as he gently traced the site of the wound.

She swallowed. "A place to stay." He nodded. "And, um…"

He moved closer, and noticed she was shaking. "What happened?" he asked as he drew his hand away. The strong urge to touch her was soundly counteracted by the warning signs saying (screaming) _don't_. Don't.

A breath. "I got into a fight."

"With your husband?"

A barely-there nod. A nearly imperceptible wince.

"How bad are you hurt?"

"Bruises and cuts and…" tired and sore and lonely. So very tired and lonely. The bruises weren't the worst part.

"Do you need to see a doctor?"

"No." The word was softly spoken, and Cary could hear the fear in her voice. It was a sound he was too used to hearing at the SA's office, the sound of people too scared to ask for the help they needed.

"Can I take a look?"

She nodded. He led her to his bathroom and helped her take off her clothes. He tried to not visibly react at what that act revealed.

"I wasn't the one who lost."

He paused in his attentions to a gash above her knee to look up at her. "I came here because he wasn't capable of following me. I don't want to lead him to you, Cary."

He wanted to hug her, but he knew that would be a bad idea. He settled for gently rubbing a spot along her knee where there wasn't a cut or a bruise. When he went back to bandaging the tear, she asked, "where did you learn how to do this?"

"Doctor cuts and bruises? When I was in the Peace Corps." Another time, another place, quite possibly another person, he would have elaborated. But here, now, with her… no. He was fighting the urge to babble, to fill the silence punctuated occasionally by an indrawn breath from Kalinda when he found another sore spot. He thought he might have to make a trip to the store for more ice.

"Part of your training?"

He smiled faintly at this reminder she was still Kalinda, and she could still get him to talk whenever she wanted. It wouldn't occur to him until later that what she was asking for was to hear his voice. "What was part of my training was inadequate for reality, as these things tend to be, so I learned in the field. The first week in, a friend of mine misjudged the ground and got too close to the edge of a ravine. He was lucky, no broken bones, just a lot of cuts and bruises." Cary paused. "Guys complain more." He paused again, mentally documenting a bruise on her shin that didn't seem to require immediate treatment. She clutched the counter when he gently bent her ankle. That would require treatment. He moved to get a wrap to put around it. And some ice. "A doctor, new on the job, helpfully pointed out the areas for ice. Which we didn't have. And antiseptic, which we fortunately did. And stitches, which were administered without pain medication." There were some cuts, Cary felt, that could use some stitches, but Kalinda hadn't agreed to a doctor and Cary would only press the point if he felt she was in much danger of more than a scar. He was reasonably confident of his ability to clean out a wound. None of his previous patients had died. Well, of infection.

When he was done he lead her over to his bed and helped her in it. He went and got her some water, and placed it and the pain medication besides her. He could go and get her something stronger if she needed it.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No."

"Okay, well, let me know if you need anything, I'll leave the door open-"

"Please stay with me."

Cary swallowed. He was so scared of hurting her. "Okay." He climbed into bed next to her and let her curl up next to him. He rested his cheek against her forehead, but kept his hands off. He couldn't comfort without causing pain.

She moved her head down to his shoulder. Her hand formed a fist on his chest, his shirt entangled in it. She cried herself to sleep.

Her respite was short. She was soon awakened by pain, and shifted in vain, trying to get comfortable. "I can go get you something-" Cary offered.

"No."

He stayed.


End file.
